When critics are waiting to pounce upon poetic style on exactly the same grounds as if it were prose, the poets tremble. — John Crowe Ransom Copy Share Image
“Tell this to ladies: how a hero man Assail a thick and scandalous giant Who casts true shadow in the sun, And die, but… — John Crowe Ransom Copy Share Image
Captain Carpenter rose up in his prime Put on his pistols and went riding out But had got wellnigh nowhere at that time Till… — John Crowe Ransom Copy Share Image
Do not enforce the tired wolf Dragging his infected wound homeward To sit tonight with the warm children Naming the pretty kings of France. — John Crowe Ransom Copy Share Image
In all the good Greek of Plato I lack my roastbeef and potato. A better man was Aristotle, Pulling steady on the bottle. — John Crowe Ransom Copy Share Image
God have mercy on the sinner Who must write with no dinner, No gravy and no grub, No pewter and no pub, No bellyand… — John Crowe Ransom Copy Share Image
The image cannot be dispossessed of a primordial freshness, which idea can never claim. An idea is derivative and tamed. The imageis in the… — John Crowe Ransom Copy Share Image
It is a miracle of harmony, of the adaptation of the free inner life to the outward necessity of things. — John Crowe Ransom Copy Share Image
And how can poetry stand up against its new conditions? Its position is perfectly precarious. — John Crowe Ransom Copy Share Image
I would not knock old fellows in the dust But there lay Captain Carpenter on his back His weapons were the old heart in… — John Crowe Ransom Copy Share Image
He can develop sense and style, in the manner of distinguished modern prose, in which event he may be sure that the result will… — John Crowe Ransom Copy Share Image
